Draco's moments
by Elie.N.P
Summary: Several moments in Draco's life, from childhood to parenthood, let's discover another face of him. Short stories.
1. Her Broom

**These will be short stories about Draco, from childhood to parenthood. Hope you'll like them and won't find them too OOC.**

**ElieNP**

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**Her Broom**

Narcissa Malfoy was standing in the middle of the room, hands firmly set on her waist, head high, a frown crossing her forehead. At that moment Draco thought his mother was the most impressive woman he'd ever seen.

"How did you dare!" she roared, pointing a finger at her husband. "How did you dare give it to him!"

"Well-"

"Hush!"

Lucius looked about to retort but the glare of his wife told him better than to follow his pride.

Narcissa would never hesitate to face him when she thought he'd done something wrong, or when she was too mad to think - the latter being the case presently.

"He is only five Lucius! Five! You shouldn't have given it to him!"

"Well as you-"

"You knew how much this broom means to me!" Narcissa continued, not in the mood to listen to any far-fetched explanations. "It was the broom I rode during the last Quidditch match I ever played with my sisters! The last time we'd been the three of us together! The last time Lucius!"

Draco was hidden behind the couch, slightly trembling because of his mother's obvious wrath. He didn't know this broom was so important to his mother!

"I thought-"

"You thought it'd be all right for a kid of five to play Quidditch with an adult broom? By the way don't you think he is a little young to train in such conditions? Don't you think it's not normal for a kid to be attacked by clubs while flying?"

"The clubs weren't hitting hard," Lucius pitifully replied.

Another roar came out from Narcissa's throat. Draco instantaneously fled the room. He'd rather be called a coward than take the risk to attract his mother's attention right now. His father was a big man – and responsible of this mess - he'd make it through the storm alone!

"Your clubs broke my broom!"


	2. The Best Seeker

**The best seeker**

Lucius sighed as his son fell from his broom once again.

Frustration was overwhelming him and anger threatening to erase the little patience he'd left.

"On it! You have to stay on it!" he screamed at the kid.

"But it's always moving!" Draco retorted while brandishing his broom – which was twice the height of the five-years-old boy he was. "It's scheming to make me fall!"

Lucius clenched his fists, eyes widening. Draco's shoulders tensed a little.

"You're saying a broom can defeat you? Aren't you ashamed?"

Ridiculous! Lame! Lucius Malfoy couldn't believe such a pitiful excuse had come out from his own son's mouth.

"But-"

"Go back on it," Lucius ordered, cutting Draco off. "Try again and succeed this time! How do you plan to become the best seeker if you can't even ride a broom?"

The child hid his face from the furious eyes, but it wasn't out of shame as his father thought it was. Draco was angry, crossed with the thing which had dared hurt his pride and with his father who had so little faith in him.

He'd show them both – the broom and his father – that he was the best young seeker-in-training the Quidditch World had ever known.

He'd succeed in keeping his balance, he'd tame the beast - or cast a spell on it not to fall any more.

It'd all depend on his patience.


	3. Anything For Them

**Anything for them**

The bludger hit him hard on his left side, but didn't make him fall off his broom for all that.

To erase all risk of fall Draco tightened his hold around the broomstick. The game was still going on. He couldn't give up now. He wouldn't land until it wasn't over, much less when they were losing – it didn't matter that the difference was ridiculously small, the match obviously difficult nor that they'd already done their best.

Draco clenched his teeth. He had to find the Snitch and catch it, not before his team-mates gave him the signal though.

Concentrated and careful, he could only allow himself to focus on the tiny golden ball.

When you played Quidditch, you belonged to a team, you defended the pride of a House, your House. Although Draco was used to acting rather selfishly, everything always changed as soon as he entered the pitch.

In his Quidditch robes, or in training, Draco belonged to a team.

He caught a glimpse of the snitch and immediately restrained himself from racing after it. It wasn't the right time yet.

He took a deep breath. It was hard not to do what he wanted, what his body longed to do.

Hard but not impossible.

For his team, he'd do his best.


	4. Next Time He'd Catch It

**Next time he'd catch it**

The pain in his arm was sharp. Sweat was covering his forehead, soaking him, and he knew it wasn't only due to the physical effort.

Pain was overwhelming him. He wouldn't let it gain the upper hand, nevertheless it was becoming harder and harder to resist with each passing second. His left arm hurt. It felt as if his skin was on fire.

He should land, but to land would make the Slytherin team lose its captain. There was no way Draco would allow such a thing to happen. His pride and the one of his fellow comrades were at stake, besides his parents were present. His mother would understand if he quitted – encourage him even to do so – his father never would.

Draco had to fly, to play and, above all, to win this match. No matter how bad it hurt. He simply didn't have the choice.

He suddenly caught sight of the snitch away on his left, away but still closer to him than to the Ravenclaw Seeker.

It was for him.

He swiftly modified his flight. He'd definitely catch it and would have caught it right now if the pain hadn't been so sharp.

This damned pain! It'd dared make him faint right when he was about to win it. How daring it was!

Lying on the infirmary bed, his rage was boiling. All because a choice he hadn't made himself. All because of a link he didn't want. All... he could do nothing against that all but hope to quickly learn how to support the pain long enough to catch the snitch next time.

He'd already given up on so many things, he wasn't ready to give up on Quidditch yet.


	5. Vulgar Puppet

**Vulgar Puppet**

Draco sat on the floor, his broom laying across from him. He'd never touch it again. He wasn't worthy to ride it any more, had he ever been? He'd failed his team. How could he have forgotten to come to their match? How could he have missed something so important for Salazar's sake!

He greeted his teeth. It was the first time his mind had failed him with such huge consequences. Quidditch mattered more to him than anything else, or it used to be thus...

He dug his nails in his left arm, clawing the burning mark. It was all because of it!

Since it'd appeared on his arm it'd made its way under his skin, straight to his soul. It'd condemned him and stolen his life away.

Draco had become a puppet.

At the beginning, it hadn't bothered him too much because he could still focus on what he loved the most. He could still play with his team and lead them to victory. At that time he'd still been allowed to find freedom away from all the hindrances of the ground.

But now... now even Quidditch had been taken away from him!

He had nothing any more. He was nothing any more.

No will, no life, no passion.

Empty and docile, all that was left of him was a vulgar puppet.


	6. Father and Son

**Father and Son**

The Snitch flew past him, soon followed by his son.

Draco watched the young boy go higher through the clouds. Fortunately his wife wasn't there to see them so far away from the safety of the ground.

Albeit Draco was as aware as his wife it was dangerous, he hadn't had the heart to go against his son's request.

Scorpius, at six-year-old, had already decided he'd make it to the Quidditch team of his future House. Since his choice had been made, each time he knew his father wasn't busy he'd run to him clumsily carrying their brooms in his little arms. To make it to the team he had to train. Who could be a better trainer than a former seeker?

Draco could never refuse him a flight. Sometimes Scorpius would come to him when he was working, brooms in arms, all shining eyes and wide smiling lips. Then, to the surprise of everyone but his wife's, Draco'd instantaneously stop what he was doing to follow the child.

He'd do anything for them to spend time together. Anything except forcing his son to do something he didn't like. If one day Scorpius' love for Quidditch were to truly disappear he'd accept it.

Quidditch was something they both loved, but it wasn't the sole thing father and son shared.


End file.
